


Flames of France

by The_Villian_of_Notre_Dame



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Alastor Being a Jerk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Speaks French (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is the king of jerks, Alastor x OC - Freeform, And Alastor loves that, And Angel Loves that, Angel being a flirt, Angel does have a Birthmark, Angel is the Hunchback of Notre Dame but he's not deformed, Arackniss doesn't give two craps about Angel Dust, Bisexual Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Bisexual Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Cannibal Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Character is Esmeralda, Character might also be the masculine one compared to Alastor, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Frollo Alastor, Gypsy Baxter, Gypsy Character, Gypsy Charlie, Gypsy Niffty, He just has trouble reading/writing, Human Alastor - Freeform, Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Human Arackniss - Freeform, Human Baxter, Human Charlie, Human Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Human Niffty, Human Sir Pentious, Human Vaggie, Hunchback Angel Dust, I Don't Know Anymore, I know, IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY GUESSED, In the shape of his spider markings, Innocent killer, Italian Angel Dust, Italian Arackniss, Just not a very big one, Like Alastor is a serial killer but somehow retains his innocence., Multi, Notre Dame and Hazbin Hotel Crossover, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Poor Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), SLOW BURN y'all, So dyslexic Angel Dust..?, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Thats going to be his deformity, The character is a tough adorable type, Tsundere Husk, Vaggie is Phoebus, Vaggie is the Masculine one in Spidermoth, What Was I Thinking?, everyones human, i'm a mess, like really slow burn, no demons here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Villian_of_Notre_Dame/pseuds/The_Villian_of_Notre_Dame
Summary: +Like fire,Hellfire,This fire in my skin,This burning desire,Is turning me to sin!+
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Character(s), Angel Dust/Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Arackniss/Baxter (Hazbin Hotel), Husk/Charlie Magne, Niffty/Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel)
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Hello! Thank you all for giving this book a Chance! I know it sounds odd- But it does get Better- Trust me.

I'll post the drawings of them in the next chapter ^^

+

Once upon a time, Deep in the heart of Paris, lies the holy church of Notre Dame. Around it- a bustling city. Bells began to ring inside the two, high, stone, condescending towers. Throught Paris, their sweet song alerting all to the start of another beautiful day. The baker opened his shop, arms filled with delicious baguettes- the sent wafting down each street and making every little child beg their mothers, ‘Can we get some bread? Please mother!’. A fishermen slouched on the cold cobblestone bridge, sighing as yet another fish evaded his simple fishing pole. Further behind all the bustling shops and skeptical parents, a small caravan was set up. There, inside, a jester with the mask of a Gypsy was setting up for a puppet show. He sung deeply, and caught the interest of a few small girls and boys. They gathered around his mini stage in curiosity. The male, Husk, grinned at all the innocent eyes focused on him. He cleared his throat, fishing out a small lookalike hand puppet form the confines of his wagon, and started.

“Listen, Their beautiful- No?” His normally scratchy tone was surprisingly smooth. Putting a hand up to his ear, he smiled down at the little kids, pausing for theatrics.

“So many beautiful colors of sounds,”

“So many Changing moods.”

“Because you know- They do not ring all by themselves.”

“ _They don’t?”_ Husk’s puppet squeaked, popping out from under the stage. The male made a frustrated expression.

“No, You silly boy!” He scolded, and moved to the ragged drapes, pushing them away to reveal a small window built into his caravan.

“You see- up there, way up there- in that high bell tower, Lives the mysterious bell ringer.” Husk’s words were hushed, as if he were giving away a secret. The children leaned in- anticipation gnawing at their young minds.

“Who is this creature?” He asked himself.

“ _Who?_ ” The lookalike echoed.

“What is he?”

“ _What?_ ”

“How did he come to be here?”

“ _How?_ ”

“Hush!” Husk’s voice turned gravely for but a few seconds, and he whacked the puppet on it’s head with a spare stick. Hearing the tinkling of children's laughter, he smirked- ego inflating. Spinning back to glance at the children, he leaned over the small stage.

“Husk will tell you.” He announced, and his expression became shrouded. The kid’s eyes were wide with wonder.

“It is a tale- a tale of a man…”

“ **-And a monster..** ” Husk’s tone became rough again to add effect.

+

**_“Dark was the night, on the docks of Notre Dame…”_ **

**The swaddled baby wailed in a small wooden boat. A mother clutched it tightly, and the father wound his arm around the wife’s shoulders. The gypsy couple looked tired, and miserable. Their escort slowly paddled under each arch of a bridge- on the pier of Notre Dame.**

**“Shut the thing up, Will ya?” The aid growled, and the mother flinched.**

**“Hush little one.” She frantically shushed the Baby, and the husband looked around worriedly.**

**“We’ll be spotted!” He whispered hoarsely, adding to the already tense mood. _“_**

**_"Four frightened Gypsies slid silently under the docks near Notre Dame..”_ **

+

Suddenly, Husk was interrupted by a tall figure that leered over all the unsuspecting children.

“You got to be kidding me.” Husk snarled, and slumped over the wooden stage.

“Alastor! I was in the middle of my musical number!” Husk yelled, throwing out his hands. The kids frantically looked behind them, and when seeing a person garbed in black and red robes- yelped in fear, scattering back to their various homes.

“Oh! I am so sorry my friend, but you seem to be telling it _wrong_.” Alastor’s face was shown, with red rimmed eyes and brown bangs- his dark tan skin popped. A pearly white- wide smile was etched on his face, supposedly threatening. Husk facepalmed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh yeah? Well it’s my story and I can recite it however I want.” Husk argued, already done with his so-called friend. Alastor narrowed his eyes, and passive aggressively raised a hand. He waved off Husk’s claim, and clasped his arms tightly behind him.

“Your lucky I have to appear somewhere, otherwise I would tell you everything you are doing wrong!” Alastor exclaims with a cruel smirk. Husk grits his teeth, and crosses his arms.

“Until we meet again- please try to refrain front telling our lovely youth such horrible, and _incorrect_ information.” The minister orders, and strode off smugly, a wide cheshire grin present. Husk huffed, and looked back at the bell towers, sighing.

_“That man is going to be the death of this city.”_

**-Again thank you for reading! Comment on what you think below!-**

**I'll also put the character drawings in the next chapter!**


	2. The Monster of Notre Dame

Here is the Alastor Character Design- Husk and the others will come in the future! ^^

+

Alastor held a basket loosely in the nook of his inner elbow, robes fluttering out behind him gracefully as he made is way to the Notre Dame Cathedral. Daily he would pay a visit to the miserable human he was forced to take care of- high in the clock towers. Alastor wanted the monster where nobody could see his unholy markings and odd skin tone. Rolling his eyes in disgust at the very thought, Alastor glanced around in aversion at all the gypsies that had melted into this once fine city. It wasn't hard to distinguish them from the common folk- as they were much tanner and wore colorful, flashy clothing that popped against the grey streets. Even he, Alastor, the Minister, was of gypsy descent, but hated them nonetheless. Maybe it was because his father, a particularly cruel man- that beat his beloved mother regularly, was a gypsy. Perhaps it was because he secretly hated himself, even though Alastor always smiled and radiated confidence. Nobody knew- but everyone knew of the man's smoldering rage for each and every 'Hooligan' as he called them- that stepped into the gates of Paris. Alastor was jared from his increasingly violent thoughts when he heard the huge, familiar bells ring like thunder, and flinched- remembering what he was here for. Smoothly climbing the many steps, he came to face the grand cathedral herself, and pushed one of the heavy double doors open. Stepping into the huge church, filled with murals and candles, Alastor took a sharp left for the single pair of stairs that he had come to know so well. The silence followed him all the way up each winding turn, and he sighed, putting a finger to his temple. Gathering all his patience, he opened the final small door that the staircase had lead him to.

"Al, is that you? I was startin' ta think you had left me up here!" A nasally, thick italian voice rang out, and Alastor grit his teeth, the ever present smile becoming forced.

"If only I could, Anthony." He shot back, and heart a snort. Anthony, or as he liked to be called- Angel, was found after Alastor had ~~terrorized~~ inforced law on a unruly band of gypsies and their young son. He was but a teen, at the ripe age of 13, when Alastor had murdered Angel's mother away from his innocent eyes- right on the steps of Notre Dame. It wasn't his fault she died- the foolish girl ran, he pursued. Completely guiltless! Alastor was only 21 at the time- but righteously believed in god- even though he was a serial killer and a cannibal. The priest of Notre Dame, witnessing his sin accidently, forced Alastor to care for the adolescent. Al was scarcely of age- and at first, laughed off the order, about to kill the absurd man as well. That was when- the holy man, pointed at every saint carved into the walls of the Cathedral, and to Alastors horror- all were looking at him in disgrace. Panicked, he shakingly agreed- and rushed off to find the child. Anthony turned out to be curled up in an ally, broken and covered with snow, but when Alastor finally got a look at the boy's tear-stained face, he gasped. With pearly white skin, Angel looked nothing like a gypsy- but possessed three dotted birthmarks under each wide, chocolate eye. They were a dark tan, and the skin color of his newly deceased mother. The boy had strawberry blonde hair, and overall looked unearthly. Completely foreign. Alastor swept up the child quickly, before anyone could see him and his devilish marks, quickly striking a deal with the priest to let Anthony live in the bell tower. There- Alastor visited for an hour daily- much to his displeasure, and essentially raised the male. Come to find out, Anthony was italian- but that was where the knowledge about his past ended. Besides the basic, feminine looks of his mother, Alastor had no clue where Anthony came from, who he was, and what he was going to be. Unfortunately, Al could guarantee one of his parents was a prostitute, because Angel was constantly flirting and making lewd jokes. Alastor didn't even know how Anthony managed to get all this information on unpleasant subjects- but it was essentially torture for Alastor, who was extremely uncomfortable in those situations. He had a sneaking suspicion it was the Priest- but no matter. He would end the old buzzard's life one of these days.

"Al! Get your holy butt up here!" Angel yelled, and Alastor grimaced, adjusting his hat.

"I will arrive when I arrive, My good fellow!" Alastor snapped, and maneuvered through various wooden beams and ropes leading to Anthony's area. Alastor wouldn't call it a room, because there was literally just a table with wooden figures on it and two stools. Since Anthony's 18th birthday a few weeks ago, Alastor gave him the privilege of owning a pet. Boy was that a mistake. Out of all the animals in the world- this boy had to pick, a _pig_. The minster didn't know what Anthony saw in that swine, but he thought it was a mistake and sloppy one at that. 

"Is that disgusting creature running amok up there?" Alastor questioned, not even bothering to hide hesitance. He heard a huge sigh, and various items being moved.

"Na, Nuggs is sleepin'." The reply came, and Alastor nodded approvingly. Anthony didn't even give the mammal an appropriate name. What kind of title was Fat Nuggets? An idiotic title, that part Al was certain of.

"Indeed. I brought baguettes." Alastor informed, and found his way to the rickety stairs that led up to an elevated platform Anthony called home. Speaking of the blonde, there he was, sitting at a cleared table in the corner, wedged between one of the gigantic beams that held up each bell. Alastor strode over, and sat down with surprising grace, adjusting his hat and setting the woven basket down gently in the middle of them.

"I want pasta." Anthony grumbled, pouting like a child. Alastor smacked him on the back of the head. Angel's hands shot up to rub the sore spot, and he whimpered.

"What'da do that for?!" Alastor scowled, and shook his head, opening the basket and taking out his personal bible and one long loaf of piping hot bread.

"Ungrateful Brat." He hissed, and opened the thick book, licking an index and turning the page. Anthony muttered something, crossing his arms and taking off a hunk of bread. He ate it slowly, and with spite- glaring at the floor.

"Your only like-" Anthony counted slowly, looking up at the ceiling, mouthing out numbers. Alastor scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Take your time." He said sarcastically, continuing to look at the tome with mild interest.

"Oi! Your only 8 years older than me!" Angel stated, pointing a manicured finger at Alastor. The minister briefly wondered how he cared for his nails in a bell tower, but that thought quickly diminished when the blonde tried to swipe his half of bread. Alastor wacked his hand away, and Anthony hissed in pain, yanking his palm back with a wounded expression.

"Anthony! Refrain yourself, Dear boy!" Alastor scolded, and sighed, coming to a new page in his volume.

"Now, let's review your vocabulary." He said dully, and Anthony moaned, banging his head on the table.

"I will smack you again." Alastor growled. The young adult shot up, and waved his hands up in surrender. 

"No need for that!" He replied hastily. Alastor sighed.

"That's what I inferred. Now, A." Alastor nodded.

"Abomination."

"B."

"Bane."

"C."

"Contortion."

"D."

"Damnation."

"E."

"Hm- Oh! Eternal Damnation!" Anthony caught himself proudly, and Alastor smirked wider.

"Very good. F."

"Festival!" Angel blurted out before he could stop himself. Alastor flinched, dropping his bible. Anthony's eyes widened when he realized what exactly he had said.

"Uh- No- I meant Failure!" Angel scrambled to correct himself, but the damage was already done. Alastor stood up in a flurry of motion, and his eyes held annoyance, irritation.

"You wish to attend that festival of hooligans?" Alastor snarled, his smile more of a grimace at this point. The effeminate man shook his head rapidly, trying to save a lost cause.

"You will _**not**_ attend that festival, _**do you understand?**_ " Alastor hissed, grabbing Anthony's ruffled lace collar. Angel's eyes glistened with fresh tears, and he blinked.

"Y-Yes sir!" He squeaked fearfully. Alastor muttered something under his breath furiously, and straightened, dropping Angel. He departed quickly, robes floating out behind him like huge black wings. Hearing the door slam, Angel flinched, and wiped his eyes with the back of his forearm, sniffling. Fat nuggets trotted over, oniking concernedly. Anthony looked at the pigs beady eyes and laughed bitterly. He was a monster. An Outcast. 

"Hello?" A feminine voice rang out, with a tough undertone to it. Anthony froze, his dark thoughts being shoved back until later. He was about to get up and check the strange noise, but suddenly, a human came into view, climbing up the staircase to his sanctuary. It was a female- grabbed in golden armour and a sharp sword strapped to her belt. She had dark skin with long, lucious brown hair that went down to her waist. She wore an eyepatch over her right eye, some of her bangs covering it.

"Oh Dios mío!" She yelled when she saw Anthony, eyes wet and a pig by his side. Anthony yelped at the sudden loud noise, and jumped back, startled. He tried to crawl away, but the mysterious woman rushed after him, black eyes wide with curiosity and guilt.

"I'm sorry! Who are you? Please don't run away! I need help!" She rushed, and grabbed his arm, stopping Anthony's attempt at fleeing. He tensed up, preparing for a slap or attack. None came. His shrouded eyes slowly opened, hesitantly, and he found her just studying him, a confused expression on her face.

"Who are you?" She breathed, and Anthony's doe eyes darted up, glancing at her face, before looking down quickly. After an eternal battle, he concluded she wasn't going to hurt him- and was actually quite attractive.

"Anthony- but just call me Angel." He introduced shyly, with a coy grin. She smiled back, and let go, holding out her hand.

"I'm Vagthina. Call me Vaggie."


	3. This is why I don't have friends.

I awoke with a start, looking around the familiar room I called my own. Grinning crazily, I only had one thing on my mind.

"The Festival of fools is starting soon!" I cheer, ecstatic for the day that only came once a year- and never fast enough. Being a gypsy on the streets of Paris, this was the one day we were free to express ourselves without that jerk of a Minster getting in the way. Even the townsfolk joined in. The public nicknamed it 'Topsy Turvey Day', and that's' exactly what it was. Truly a holiday to look forward to. I rolled out of my bed, already pumped just thinking about it. Apparently I had slept in, because when I looked outside, the court of Miracles was practically empty. Old catacombs were usually bustling with people like myself, all under Notre Dame. Truth be told, I wasn't an actual born gypsy- instead adopted into their style. It really showed, as I had moderately tan skin, dirty blonde hair, and smokey blue eyes. I didn't mind one bit- I loved dancing and making music that defies the natural order of Paris. Being a rebel was more fun than a lot of people give it credit for. The only thing that put a dapper on my mood- was the Minster, as I mentioned earlier. His real name was Alastor, and boy, was that guy a bore. Always terrorizing our people. That man totally ignores his heritage- which some would say is even worse. Although Alastor is forced to attend the Festival, all he does is sit in a tent with that same, wide smile. I can never tell if he enjoys it or not. Usually I'm pretty adept at reading facial expressions and emotions, but Alastor is a blank slate- I can't get anything out of him. This both unnerves me and stirs a twisted type of admiration toward the sadist.

"Oi! Mariet, Ya coming?" One of the gypsies ask, poking their head through the stone doorframe. I smile, and turn to them. My room is rather small, with tatters of colorful old fabric that make up a bed.

"Yeah! Gimme a second to dress!" I reply, and move over to small woven basket in the corner. Since the walls of my quarters are made entirely of cobblestone with no windows, I have to brighten the place up with candles. The only reason I can see the basket at all is because we bought some scented wax at the market earlier from my earnings. Now, instead of wet fur and faint rotting- I smell lavender. Quite a nice transition if you ask me. Swiping some baggy purple trousers, a white tunic, and my wide, golden hoop earrings, I walk over to the now empty doorway, and unlatch a rope from the corner, causing a raggy curtain to drape over the opening- allowing me some privacy. I quickly slip on my attire, and finish off the look with some silver ankle bracelets. I don't own any shoes, so no need for socks.

"Hey John? Can you give me a ride to the party?" I call, passing through the doorway, down the uneven stairs, and jogging over to a caravan. John was a good friend of mine, and helped me settle in here. A friendly guy with the traditional gypsy look. Dark skin, black hair, and warm eyes. I saw his familiar face pop out from inside, and he smiled, beckoning me over.

"Of course, My Friend! Hop in!" John invited joyously, and I skip over to his wagon, opening the back doors and hopping inside. I see the man already garbed in colorful clothing and one small earring on his left lobe.

"Ey! Ernie! Time to go!" John banged on the frontal wall, where on the other side a drivers seat had been nailed in. You heard a faint approval from outside, and felt the carriage jolt to a start, clops of horse hooves echoing through the stone walls. I smirked. It was time to celebrate like there was no tomorrow.

+

"Oi! Where here!" I hear 'Ernie' yell, and perk up immediately. It's showtime.


End file.
